Miriam extended herself on the drawing-room sofa which had been drawn up at the end of the room under the open window. The quintets of candles on the girandoles hanging on either side of the high overmantel gave out an unflickering radiance, and in the centre of the large room the chandelier, pulled low, held out in all directions bulbs of softly tinted light. In an intensity of rose-shaded brilliance pouring from a tall standard lamp across the sheepskin hearthrug stood a guest with a fiddle under her arm fluttering pages on a music stand. The family sat grouped towards her in a circle. On her low sofa, outside the more brilliant light, Miriam was a retreating loop in the circle of seated forms, all visible as she lay with her eyes on the ceiling. But no eyes could meet and pilfer her own. The darkness brimmed in from the window on her right. She could touch the rose-leaves on the sill and listen to the dewy stillness of the garden. “What shall I play?” said the guest. “What have you there?” “Gluck ... Klassische Stücke ... Cavatina.” “Ah, Gluck,” said Mr. Henderson, smoothing his long knees with outspread fingers. “Have you got that Beethoven thing?” asked Sarah. “Not here, Sally.” “I saw it--on the piano--with chords,” said Sarah excitedly. “Chords,” encouraged Miriam. “Yes, I think so,” muttered Sarah taking up her crochet. “I daresay I’m wrong,” she giggled, throwing out a foot and hastily withdrawing it. “I can find it, dear,” chanted the guest. Miriam raised a flourishing hand. The crimsoned oval of Eve’s face appeared inverted above her own. She poked a finger into one of the dark eyes and looking at the screwed-up lid whispered voicelessly, “Make her play the Romance first and _then_ the Cavatina without talking in between....” Eve’s large soft mouth pursed a little, and Miriam watched steadily until dimples appeared. “Go on, Eve,” she said, removing her hand. “Shall I play the Beethoven first?” enquired the guest. “Mm--and then the Cavatina,” murmured Miriam, as if half asleep, turning wholly towards the garden, as Eve went to collect the piano scores. 2 She seemed to grow larger and stronger and easier as the thoughtful chords came musing out into the night and hovered amongst the dark trees. She found herself drawing easy breaths and relaxing completely against the support of the hard friendly sofa. How quietly everyone was listening.... After a while, everything was dissolved, past and future and present and she was nothing but an ear, intent on the meditative harmony which stole out into the garden. 3 When the last gently strung notes had ceased she turned from her window and found Harriett’s near eye fixed upon her, the eyebrow travelling slowly up the forehead. “Wow,” mouthed Miriam. Harriett screwed her mouth to one side and strained her eyebrow higher.